


xv. manhandling

by tempestaurora



Series: it's okay, we're okay [whumpvember 2018] [15]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Manhandling, Underage Drinking, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 05:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16633436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestaurora/pseuds/tempestaurora
Summary: It was an experiment and it was not.It was Peter, seventeen years old, doing a keg stand in the middle of a crowd of whooping teenagers.It was Peter, barely even tipsy, downing five tequila shots in a row and running onto the dance floor.It was Peter, somehow, inexplicably, for one night only: one of the cool kids.So Ned was, predictably, worried.





	xv. manhandling

**Author's Note:**

> idk what this is  
> don't yell at me about underage drinking we all do it don't lie

It was an experiment and it was not.

It was Peter, seventeen years old, doing a keg stand in the middle of a crowd of whooping teenagers.

It was Peter, barely even tipsy, downing five tequila shots in a row and running onto the dance floor.

It was Peter, somehow, inexplicably, for one night only: one of the cool kids.

So Ned was, predictably, worried.

“Maybe we should call May,” he hissed at MJ, the two of them standing side by side against the living room wall. Somewhere in a distant room, something smashed. Ned wasn’t sure whose house this was, just that someone MJ knew was throwing the party, or knew the person throwing the party, and MJ had invited the decathlon team. Only four of them showed, though. Ned, MJ, Peter and Flash.

Flash had disappeared over an hour ago into the fray, and Peter was somehow the life of the party. Maybe it was because no one here knew them. No one knew him as Penis Parker – tonight, he was Peter Parker, the kid with the tolerance of iron.

Peter backflipped because he could. The crowd around him cheered.

“He’s fine,” MJ replied, waving a hand. She had a red solo cup filled with a toxic mixture of whiskey and coke – she didn’t wince at the taste but Ned had seen her pour it; there was only a dash of coke in all that whiskey. “Besides, he’s only tipsy.”

“I don’t think he’s ever been drunk before,” Ned worried, clenching his red solo cup of sprite just a little too hard. He frowned at his drink running over his fingers.

“What about that time with the vodka-”

“No, he drank a quarter of it and didn’t feel a thing.”

“Enhanced metabolism is a bitch,” MJ said with a sense of finality.

Neither of them were ones for dancing, so they hung out and watched as Peter took over the floor. His balance was just about all there, his speech not even slurred. He took an offered shot and downed it with a group of strangers, then proceeded to gently place it on the mantelpiece while the others smashed their glasses against the ground.

Yeah, Peter was still in there.

So, it was an experiment and it was not.

It was Peter wanting to see how far his body would take him; how many drinks he needed to inhale before he would finally get blurry-eyed and lightheaded.

But it was also Peter wanting a good time. It was Peter, the popular kid for a single night, whooping and dancing and having fun.

And it _was_ fun, even when Peter leapt out of the crowd, grabbed Ned and MJ by their free hands and pulled them into the centre of the room. Loser kids dancing in a crowd of popular teenagers. Somewhere in the house was MJ’s cousin – her tenuous link to this party, these people.

No one knew the kids they danced around. No one knew them as the losers they undoubtedly were in their own circles. So, no one blinked twice as Peter brought them into the middle and span MJ around, once, fast.

Loser kids in the middle of the popular crowd, and no one knew any better.

No one _cared._

So it was good.

It was fun.

It was bright and wonderful and everything was _great_.

Until it wasn’t.

Until a boy taller than Peter and probably older too, leaned forward, and whispered something into his ear – something that made him frown and jerk out of his reach. Ned couldn’t hear what was being said, but the stranger laughed, mouthed something like _Oh, come on!_ and tried again.

And this time, he grabbed Peter’s arm.

Ned knew a few things about Peter’s powers: he knew Peter could’ve punched that guy so hard he would’ve died before he hit the ground; he knew that Peter could hear everything happening two streets over if he tried; he knew that Peter could stick to anything and walk on ceilings.

He knew, especially, that Peter had a danger sense that flared in the back of his head whenever he sensed something wrong.

He also had come to know, through copious observations and hours of time spent in Peter’s presence, what Peter’s face looked like when the danger sense flared. How it tensed, how his eyes opened just a fraction wider, how the line of his mouth evened out.

Ned saw it all when the stranger touched Peter’s arm and pulled him close. When he leaned forward to whisper things again. When he slowly started moving away from the circle, Peter in tow.

Ned nudged at MJ’s arm, so she’d pay attention. “Peter,” he said.

“Hey-” Peter was cut off abruptly by a cup being thrust into his free hand. “I don’t want this- hey! Dude! Let me go.” Peter dumped the drink in the hands of a stranger before he was pulled out of the crowd.

With one glance to MJ, she and Ned started off after Peter, quickly rushing through the closing gap of people that was created among the crowd.

“Peter!” MJ called, faster than Ned.

“MJ? Hey- dude. This is uncool. Come on.”

They rushed out of the living room, through the arch that led into the hall. Peter was at the base of the staircase, the stranger with an easy smile on his face as he pulled Peter closer. The hall wasn’t nearly as crowded as the living room, and they barged their way over. The stranger rolled his eyes at the sight of them.

“This wasn’t an invitation for the whole gang,” he drawled, rolling his neck like they were a minor nuisance at most.

“Peter doesn’t want to go with you,” MJ said.

“That’s up for Peter to decide.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “ _Peter_ has already decided. Let me go, man, come on.”

“Listen,” the stranger said, turning back to Peter. “It’s just a game, you know? Seven minutes in heaven. There’s a bunch of us hanging out up there, we play a little, we drink a little. No pressure, come on.”

Peter levelled his gaze at the stranger. “The grip on my arm makes me feel pressured.”

There was a moment of silence between the four of them; the tipsy gaze of the stranger meeting the sobered stare of Peter. After a moment, Peter yanked his arm out of the guy’s grip. The guy huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Sheesh. Fine. Whatever. I was just offering-”

“I’m not buying,” Peter interrupted. “Hey, Ned, mind calling our ride? I’m kind of over this party.”

Ned nodded, pulling out his phone as the stranger groaned one last time. He pushed away and started up the stairs, shouting a, “Whatever!” over his shoulder as he left. Ned found his Emergencies Only number for Mr Stark, knowing that tonight was the one night where he could text him just for a ride instead. ( _Have fun at the party, dorks. Peter – make sure your friends have my number, alright? If any of you need a ride just text._ )

“You sure you’re over this party?” MJ asked. “You looked like you were having fun out there.”

Peter shrugged. “I was. I’m not anymore. Besides, it’s still early-”

“It’s one AM.”

“-we could totally persuade Mr Stark to take us out for a really late dinner.”

So Ned texted Mr Stark, who replied within ten seconds with a confirmation, and the three of them slowly made their way back through the house. MJ downed the rest of her drink as she went, a little tipsy, a tiny bit more smiley than normal. Peter didn’t bother drinking anything else, and Ned ditched his sprite on the kitchen table before the three of them wandered out to the front.

As they headed for the door, a girl swung her arm around Peter’s shoulder, pouting as she asked, “You’re not leaving already, are you?”

“Sorry, Mandy,” Peter replied, and Ned frowned at how Peter could possibly know this stranger’s name. “We’re heading out.”

Three loser kids at a party for populars. When Mandy called out the sad news, a few people booed, but most yelled their goodbyes, their see-you-soons. Some high-fived the three of them, fist-bumped or patted their shoulders as they passed. Ned knew it was Peter they liked; Peter they’d remember as the kid who did a keg stand and walked away still completely sober – but it was nice, the attention. Strange and welcome in whatever this kind of party was.

It was MJ’s cousin who checked that they had a ride, who waited with them out front until a flashy McLaren pulled up, and he breathed out a few inaudible words as MJ saluted him goodbye.

“Have a good time?” Mr Stark asked, looking over his shoulder to check on Ned and MJ, pulling on their seatbelts.

They replied affirmatively, and Peter asked if they could swing by a diner for some food. It was a Friday night. It was fun. It was more about the enjoyment than the experiment.

Mr Stark bought them hamburgers and fries and milkshakes, and watched, amused as MJ worked through her tipsy state of quirking more than zero smiles a minute. And when Peter mentioned the guy who’d grabbed his arm, Mr Stark’s face clouded over until Peter said that Ned and MJ had followed and not let the stranger pull him upstairs.

After that, he bought them all ice cream, too.

It was more about the experience than the experiment.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> don't yell at me about tony's reaction to underage drinking, now i think about it. i literally don't care i wrote this in fifteen minutes. i just wanted to get the prompt done.


End file.
